


On the Proper Deployment of Defensive Elbows

by Yubsie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Only One Bed, i mean it about that rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 02:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yubsie/pseuds/Yubsie
Summary: Wes and Hobbie are on a mission. There's only one bed.





	On the Proper Deployment of Defensive Elbows

_2200_

There were worse places to spend a night on a mission than a spaceport motel. Hoth in general came to mind. By all rights, this should be the easy part.

Sure, it was crowded, but they could probably get accommodations without having to resort to calling in a slicer. And soon enough, Wedge came over to where Hobbie and Wes were being sure not to attract attention. “I was able to get two rooms.”

Hobbie fully expected them to be two rooms of questionable quality, if this motel even had another kind. Next time, he was going to insist they go undercover somewhere fancy. Somewhere with saunas and luxury mattresses. They could pretend to be fit for polite society for a night if it meant getting a comfortable night’s sleep.

Well, Wes _probably_ could. If they explained it to him in those terms.

“I think one of them actually started its life as a closet.” Wedge tossed Wes a key. “You two enjoy the other.”

Hobbie didn’t even need to look at Wedge’s face to see the smirk. There was something that made the ex-closet better, that was a given. He might be magnanimous with a more junior officer, but the three of them had far too much history for that. Wedge was up to something and Hobbie had a bad feeling about it.

Unfortunately, Wedge not only outranked him but also was already getting out of here as quickly as possible. So he and Wes had no choice but to make their way to the room.

Wes slipped the key into the lock and opened the door with a flourish. Not that Wes did non-combat actions without a flourish if he could help it.

The room in no way warranted a flourish. He almost didn’t want to see the one that Wedge speculated used to be a closet, if this was the big one. There was enough space for a bed. And only one bed.

Hobbie stepped through the door and glanced into the ‘fresher, hoping he could offer to take the tub. But of course, there was only a small sonic shower stall. Though in a place like this he would probably manage to pick up some sort of horrifying infection just from touching a tub. Actually, he might pick up some sort of horrifying infection by looking in the general direction of a tub with his luck. “I’ll take the floor.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’ll make a mess of your back and it’ll only get worse when you contort yourself into a cockpit tomorrow.” There was nothing more aggravating than absolute sense coming from the lips of Major Wes Janson. “The bed fits two.”

Hobbie sighed, set his pack down and tossed his coat on top. The bed did technically fit two.

_2300_

The bed fit two assuming one of them wasn’t actually a _Taulian starfish_. Wes Janson was 1.7 metres tall. It should not be humanly possible for him to occupy as much of the bed in his sleep as he was. So the only possible explanation was that he was in fact a creature with a much larger surface area wearing an incredibly convincing human suit.

Hobbie was supposed to be in this bed to avoid making a mess of his back. And yet here he was perching awkwardly on the edge that was still available to him. This was not going to be any better.

If Wes was going to insist they share the bed, they were going to _actually share it_. Whatever Wes Janson’s surface area, Hobbie could handle his mass, he was certain of that much.

They’d been in enough combat zones for Hobbie to know that Wes could go from sound asleep to shooting stormtroopers off their backs at the slightest provocation. And yet somehow, _somehow_ the lurdo was still asleep even after being flipped onto his side.

Hobbie wasn’t about to do a complex analysis. If Wes was worried about his back, he was going to make sure it was fully supported by the mattress. And deploy defensive elbows.

_0130_

Defensive elbows were effective against disguised invertebrates. They could do nothing against _feet_. Hobbie suddenly found himself wondering whether circulation was actually tested at any point during the New Republic physical exam. It hadn’t been part of the Alliance physical, of course, but they could have higher standards than a pulse now.

With how bad Wes’s circulation seemed to be he’s not sure he’d find one of those.

Bad circulation made marginally more sense than there being a direct wormhole to Hoth on the other side of the bed. Just large enough to put feet through. And then pull back out and place on someone’s calves.

On the other hand, mere poor circulation did not account for just _how_ cold that man’s feet were.

The direct wormhole theory was similarly unsatisfying when it came to explaining why Wes would turn around and try to warm them back up on his body. It would be much less effort to just not chill them. And he might never hesitate to exert additional effort in pursuit of the perfect prank, foot temperature hardly qualified.

But this was fine. The unmentioned advantage of prosthetic legs was the ability to turn off sensation in them, after all. He just needed to… collapse the defensive elbows temporarily. This was fine.

_0300_

Hobbie seemed to recall that at some point he’d had blankets. The bedding here was certainly not the height of luxury, being made of some sort of polymer that was specifically engineered for scratchiness, but it had _existed_. And at some point, it had vanished.

He was going to pretend for a moment that it vanished. He knew exactly where it probably was. But as long as he just stayed in place, staring the hideous plaster of the ceiling, he could live in his delusion. He didn’t need to face the truth.

He needed to face the truth. Because Major Derek Klivian was not a coward. Rebel scum did not let themselves live in happy denial. They faced reality, however unpleasant.

And so he leaned onto a still deployed elbow and confirmed what he already knew he’d see. He was cold because Wes had opted to turn himself into a human bantha wrap. Because of course he had. On the bright side (he knew what that was, really), Wes had put his _feet_ away. Thank the Force for small favours.

They would have enough fighting to do tomorrow. Hobbie was _not_ getting in a battle for the covers. So instead he reached over and picked up his coat. It wasn’t currently covered in blood so… not the worst blanket ever.

_0630_

They both woke quickly. Just because there were no alert sirens doesn’t meant they weren’t in mission mode. Hobbie sprang to his feet quickly.

And fell over just as quickly.

Wes gave him a concerned look. “Did you…”

Hobbie fumbled down below his knees, seeking to rectify the problem. “I turned them off. I was tired of being cold.”

Wes’s face went from concerned to approving as he helped him to his feet. “Creative.”

Hobbie shoved his pant legs back down over his mechanical calves and began to gather their equipment. “Next time? We just kriffing cuddle.”


End file.
